I cry but I don't know when
I should stop and these
fingers of mine can't seem to
stop wandering into
the hungry eyes of strangers.
I guess it's an addiction of
crime that handcuffs me
to spit and slime
in the air vents where
secrets scream out.
Somehow I lost you in the
chills of summer when
bathing suits slip into water
and unsuspecting fish
are trampled by sunlight.
We are all gone into
an abyss of clouds and blue
sky skimmed over
with the dead mockingbird's
feathers. I cry but
I want your eyes to see mine.
Open.